Page 95 of Mason

Pain blooms in my shoulder—hot, deep. Something’s torn. Doesn’t matter.

I roll onto my back, chest heaving, blinking through the haze, my gun still clenched in my hand even as my fingers scream in protest. I’ve had worse. I’ll walk through worse again.

Because this wasn’t a trap for Clay.

This was a fuckingambush.

They didn’t come to negotiate.

They came to erase him.

To erase everything.

No evidence. No hard drive. No loose ends. Just fire and ash.

And Shelby?—

They were never going to let her go.

This wasn’t a ransom. It wasn’t leverage. It was a fucking death sentence.

They took her tokillher.

And now I don’t know where she is.

I don’t know if she’s still breathing.

If she’s alone.

If she’s scared.

If she’s screaming for someone who isn’t coming.

But I do know one thing?—

Whoever planned this?

Whoever touched her?

They just signed their own death warrant.

And I’m going to deliver it in pieces.

Smoke coils around me,thick and choking, mixing with the sting of blood running warm down my arm. My ears are still ringing, my vision blurred at the edges, but I force myself to move.

One breath. Then another.

Pain lashes through my shoulder as I push myself upright, gritting my teeth against it. I reach for a steel beam, steadying myself, swaying just once before locking my knees. My left arm hangs heavier than it should—probably dislocated. Maybe worse. Doesn't matter.

I’m still standing.

From somewhere behind me, boots crunch over debris.

“Boss—Jesus, sit down before you drop.” Marco’s voice—one of our guys. Quiet. Steady. Former combat medic. He’s already moving toward me, a field kit in hand. “You’re bleeding like a bastard.”

“No time,” I grunt, but I don’t fight him when he starts working. His fingers are quick, practiced. He tears through the sleeve of my shirt and starts wiping away blood.

“You’re lucky you didn’t get shredded,” he mutters. “Shrapnel’s deep, but missed anything vital. I’ll patch it, but you’re gonna feel it.”

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